❝ I don't want a future

don't want to live out my days

without you. ❞

Darkrai

To the Distortion world with this—I thought to myself—I didn't know when it had happened, but my sister had managed to drag me down in her moment of victory—what in Arceus is happening...?

One moment, I'd been fighting against Meloetta—that sly creature who wanted nothing more than for us to stop and think just what we wanted to do—and the next moment, I'd felt myself fall backwards into an abyss of darkness that I wasn't familiar with—and that in itself was surprising because I had thought myself as someone accustomed to the shadows.

I could hear Arceus calling my name, a near-silent curse muttered under his breath and slipping through a crack of his impartial facade—but that sound soon faded as I lost my grip on all reality, leaving me to wonder if my ally had stopped talking or I had simply lost all consciousness.

The next moment had me plummeting down a dark abyss that had no beginning nor end—no, it was as if I was just falling without any control whatsoever—and I hated it; because for once, I did not enjoy this creeping feeling—I was scared of it.

A voice jolted me out of my frantic thoughts, and upon realising that I didn't recognise it, I panicked further—only for the unseen figure to halt me.

"Please do not panic," it said, and I didn't know why but I felt my tense body start to loosen, and my palpitating heart had started to still to a grudging halt. "You are not going to be hurt. You are simply getting ready for the process of Death—"

I opened my mouth to protest—I wanted to say that Legendaries couldn't die, that I hadn't even given consent to my supposed death, but my mind was dry and I couldn't bring myself to converse with the figure before me.

"You are confused." The voice was kind, and I hated that—it had no right to sound like that, not when the context was brought to light. "I understand. But this is based on your sister's wish, and I have determined that it is the best course of action if both of you are to lead a regular life in the future."

Scoffing, I turned my head to the side. "I did not give permission for this," I countered. "Furthermore, I do not know who you are."

"...I apologise for not introducing myself," the voice muttered. "I do not take a side, really. I exist only in the purgatory between life and death...a medium that Xerneas and Yveltal created out of their subconscious. I have no name, nor form—and I exist to help certain individuals ease from life to death."

I stared into the darkness, my mouth forming a thin line that almost resembled a scowl. "What if I don't want to die?" I challenged, although I knew that I would at least find some form of solace in it; I had never lived a good life, after all, and my partnership with Arceus had been the closest that I had come to living.

Forming that alliance had been interesting, to say the least. I had come to despise the Creator a little less than I had before—perhaps calling him a friend would be a bit of a stretch, but he had been one of the few Pokemon I had agreed to be close to.

"Cresselia was responsible for triggering the whole event," the voice noted, as if able to read my mind; and I didn't like that. I felt far too vulnerable around this unnamed figure. "Arceus was able to connect with you because of her decision to make that wish."

"She was happy when she found out that you were working with the Lord, you know." Even though the organism before me had no physical nor tangible shape or structure, I could make out the slight smile that was injected—if that was even possible—into each of his words. "You two were enemies, and she was forgetting about the time both of you met; yet, she still cared."

I was silent—not because I wanted to spite the voice, but because I had nothing to say. My brain's ability was akin to that of a dried fruit that had been left out in the sun for too long—in other words, nonexistent.

A laugh broke me out of my bewildered state. "Perhaps I have said a little too much," it commented, and I could make out the sorrow in its voice. "I will leave the rest to these memories to tell you the rest of the story. Perhaps...these will be able to do a more effective job."

Before I could even reply—before I could even call out to it once more to clarify just what it meant by 'memories'—because I sure didn't have any of these fickle memories retained in my mind that would provide a significant jolt.

(And that could, of course, be due to the fact that I wanted nothing to do with these confusing scenes that had ran amok in my head—the ones Cresselia's fooling around had plagued me with.)

༺༻

Whose memories are these? I wanted to ask, but I couldn't find it in me to bring the question to the tip of my tongue—besides, I was alone now. There was nothing worth asking. Mine or Cresselia's?

It wasn't a cliched "trip down memory lane" or any of that shit—I didn't care about cursing now; I was dead anyways and no one would care—but I could see the pictures start to form in my head, not scattered about like leaves in the wind—rather, it felt like I was an amnesiac who had gained back his memories all at once, and I wasn't sure what to think about it.

Had I really been like how Cresselia had told me? I didn't want to believe it—as far as I'd known, I had been ruthless, cold, evil—but I had never understood why the stupid Pokemon who had proclaimed herself my sister had always insisted that I was kind; that I had done something to prove that very kindness.

Now, however, I could get why she had been so foolish—why she wanted me back. The memories, however, seemed detached from me in a way that made me feel bad—she had been working towards that goal for so long—she'd given up everything for it—and my reply to her was this.

The warmth I had showed to her then—centuries and centuries ago—seemed like they had been carried out by a different entity entirely.

༺༻

It was bright, and that was the only thing I knew.

I would suppose that I did prefer being bathed in the blinding white as compared to a black night, but it was still overwhelming—frightening, even; the monochrome colour around me stung at my eyes and appeared at every corner of my sight.

The one good thing that I found was that the light comforted as well as daunted me—and I appreciated it. It gave me hope, although I knew that the tale of hope always being represented by such colours had played a role in that—and I felt childish.

I didn't mind, however. Hope was much better than despair and horrible, horrible darkness.

To say that I liked my home was a stretch. I survived, yes, and I was safe—that was the basic needs that it had fulfilled—but it was large, never-ending; it knew no boundaries and the worst thing that was all that useless space belonged to no one but me—and I was alone.

I really was going insane there. It was like what humans called an asylum—like I was suffering from some time of illness and they—whoever they were—were keeping me in quarantine.

So it was a huge surprise when the appearance of a mirror had somehow snuck its way into my world without me even noticing—it had just blinked into existence where empty space had once been. I was curious; I had not experienced anything but the boring white around me for my entire life, and thus I flew over to the object and stared at it.

There, I saw a foreign creature glancing at me—her ruby eyes were wide, as if she had been starved of mortal contact, and her pastel yellows and pinks were jarring against the strange juxtaposition against a pitch-black background that she had been thrown into.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" I raised an eye at the frantic muttering, and watched as she lowered her gaze. "I don't want to let go, but—"

Ah. It seemed that she had misunderstood me for a mere illusion; a figment of her mind.

"I'm real," I muttered under my breath, and reached through the mirror—it had been a stupid move, but it worked. I felt her heart pounding underneath her skin; warm and so refreshingly real, and a hidden smile rose on my face.

"Do you want to go now? The Creator is waiting for us," I asked, resting my hand on her heart— a gesture of warmth and comfort and reassurance.

My thoughts at that time had been far too flustered and confused. All I knew was that I wanted to share the light I had with her; to erase her darkness and replace it with whites and colours.

She nodded; it was an uncertain action, but a nod nonetheless—and she stared at me in shock—but a small smile formed on her face, blooming like the first flower of spring as she accepted my hand, taking it and preparing to step into the mirror.

༺༻

As her view had been turned so colourful; so vibrant, I hadn't known that my happiness would have been taken in exchange. I had been generous then, and that had been a mistake. Just as her vision had burst into colour, those very hues had been stolen from my heart—and I had been thrown into a sea of turmoil and nightmares.

Could I find it in me to forgive my sister with such ease—even though this hadn't even been her fault in the first place? Could I accept my monochrome life where every bit of negativity had been tossed towards me, leaving me to wither under every nightmare I pressed upon the very creatures that Cresselia had blessed with dreams?

This was Arceus' fault, and you forgave him because it was ultimately Fate's doing, I reminded myself. Cresselia was not to blame for turning me into a monster. I was the one who gave in to the darkness—I should have taken responsibility for this.

I had started to shake, and I tried to stop because that was a sign of weakness—but I couldn't, and the tremble was permanent, refusing to go away no matter what.

She had nothing to do with this, I thought to myself. She was simply grateful—and she went all this way to thank me. Should I...should I apologise? But it is too late...

I was forced to snap back to attention as another set of images ran through my head—I could tell that these didn't belong to me, however—instead, they were chapters of my sister's life that I had never bother to even ponder—not once in my life—and it was as if I had been granted the permission to glance inside a sacred, personal archive close to her heart, and it was raw; fearful to even start.

All the efforts she'd put in—each Pokemon she'd talked sense into and lulled from despair—I could see them all, and the strange pounding of my heart had started to fill my ears once again.

The Espeon and Umbreon were first—and they had been the only Pokemon to have had agreed straight away; agreed to sign a permission slip for their death and they had looked so happy and relieved as they'd disappeared into Yveltal's clutches.

Even though they had taken some convincing, I couldn't find a single bit of unwillingness or resentment on the other's faces—which had been a far cry from their former selves. Cresselia had put in work trying to get me to revert to my former, kind self.

So much just to get one Pokemon to remember, I chided, the voice in my mind light as I realised that I was still alone. Still, she achieved what she wanted, and I think that memory holds the last fragment of me—the part that Arceus wanted me to have.

I was about to go on another quiet ramble to myself, but the spiel was cut short with a faint noise in the distance, far out of the hearing range of any regular mortal—and I recognised the whiff that followed as someone familiar—someone I'd just been thinking about.

As if I had lost control over my body—as if my instincts had told me to have faith in them; that they wouldn't lead me astray—I started towards the source of that very sound.

༺༻

She glanced at me—I would have thought that the darkness would just make her radiance even more apparent, but it didn't seem like that was the case this time.

It wasn't her surroundings that had cast a sort of shadow over her body. No, the proper reason would be that her charisma had dimmed—and that had caused her colours to grey out, her hollow eyes now almond-shaped wells of empty crimson that shot me an uncomprehending glance.

I forced myself to smile at her. She would remember in to come, but for now, our roles had been reversed.

The phrase—I'd always thought of it as childish, but it wasn't the case now—that she had always repeated to the victims of harsh reality—the ones whom she granted a dream to with a butterfly touch came to my mind, and it dawned upon me that this "next life" that she'd wanted was a dream to us—another chance to get what we truly wanted.

I leant in close—the sentence wasn't unfamiliar in my mouth as I had thought it would be, coming from a bearer of nightmares—instead, it flowed with the smoothness of melted butter, and I felt a smile forming on my face as she stared at me with wide eyes.

(Maybe we weren't that different after all. After all, we were siblings, and no matter how different family seemed, we were the same deep down.)

"I hope that someday, you're reunited with the one you cherish."

༺༻

song: "days" , mekakucity actors ED, english cover by saki

epilogue next chapter I think